


Hero

by orphan_account



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Gender-neutral Reader, Multi, Polyamory, Slow Burn, superhero au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-01-10 22:29:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18417164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: You are the hero of this story- but you cannot beat this evil by yourself. You’ll just ask some villains to help.Superhero AU! Reader is gender neutral.





	1. Prologue

It was raining- you could only tell by the water drops falling on your head and arms, seemingly choking you. The world was an array of shades  but none of them distinguishable from the next. You don’t know what they’d done to you, but it sure was effective- _you couldn’t fly, because you’d crash, you couldn’t run, you’d fall,_ and you surely couldn’t call out, because you didn’t know where you were.

At least, until sirens went off and an old lady screamed ‘the bank, it’s getting robbed’.

“Finally, some decent timing,” you muttered, panic slowly seeping in as you took the leap and jumped up high enough to keep floating, clenching your fists.

“Which way is the bank?” you yelled, at seemingly no one- you hoped someone was around.

There was. Screams reached your ears- _down, down, down, don’t look down, don’t look up, pretend to know what you’re doing, what are you doing_ \- telling you to go to your left, and you did.

You let yourself drop down to your left, crashing through the roof and various layers of floors while your hands protected you, finally landing on what you assumed was the ground as you kneeled.

Your chest was feeling too small, taking breaths was hard- but you were here, and you had to do this. You could feel sweat forming on your forehead and with every noise- _banging, drumming, no, that’s your heart, shots_ \- you flinch. If there was ever a time not to see bullets, this was not it.

“Lookie what we have here,” a southern drawl caught your attention- you turned, but couldn’t muster the courage or the will to look up from the ground, at least, if that was the ground you were staring at.

Your chest was getting tighter.

“I need help,” you croaked, breaths ragged and fists clenched so much your nails were drawing blood.

_Don’t cry._

_Don’t cry._

_Please, don’t cry._

“Why is that, darlin’?”

He’s coming closer. Your heartbeat is loud, but his spurs are louder.

“There’s-“ you pause.

How are you going to rationally explain this?

“There’s someone worse out there. I need to- need to deal with them. Contrary to popular belief, you aren’t the worst out there. Out there-“

The gurgled, restrained sobbing came out of nowhere, but you crawled even further into yourself. Fatigue hit you- _you should’ve just walked to the bank, really_ \- like a brick and your breathing was getting fast- too fast. There wasn’t enough air.

“And?” he drawls, and you register the cold metal under your chin a few seconds after it’s there, lifting your face. You swallow, hard.

_Don’t sob._

_Don’t sob._

_He won’t notice, he’ll think it’s sweat if you just-_

“I-“

How do you continue? How do you ask for help?

“I need- we only have a month,” you grasp at the- you guess- gun, pulling it away from your throat as some of your tears leak on it.

There’s only deafening silence for a few minutes, save for your heartbeat, drumming, and your fist clenching and unclenching in time to the beat.

“They…blinded you?”

“It’s temporary- I think, at least,” you need to pause when you hear the spurs move, but not quite forward, “I need help. Your help. Anyone-“

You flinch back the moment you feel a hand touch your cheek.

“This isn’t a ruse?”

His voice is quiet, almost too quiet amidst the ruckus.

You grasp at his hand- trailing up the glove, and then there’s hairy arms, and then a shirt, and then that scarf- you can recall what that looks like, you’ve wanted to choke him with it for a long time, and your fingers grasp at it until you are holding a fistful.

“Why would I not beat your ass if I could?”

The surge of confidence is temporary and when you feel the sobs coming back- _and the memories, and the pain, and- and-_

You lean back and let go, allowing yourself to rest your hands on the ground as you try to relax.

_Relax, god damnit._

“Jesse, what in the ever-loving fuck is taking you so long over-“

Reyes? That must be that damn mist. But you don’t care, you can’t even register where he is- his voice echoes through the hall like you’re at a damn concert.

“Jesse-“

“Hold your fire,” McCree says- and you feel a warmth envelop you.

He’s wrapped his scarf around you.

Or his shirt, but it doesn’t nearly smell bad enough.

“Is that-“

“Don’t-“ McCree seems at a loss- you hear it in his voice how he doesn’t know how to deal with this, with you- another sob, “don’t startle them.”

“They’ve tried to kill us before.”

“Something’s off.”

You flinch again when an arm drags you up, but hear McCree’s voice; “I know you don’t like me, darlin’, but you ought to get off the ground.”

You almost immediately collapse again when he lets go and you feel him hurriedly catch you at your shoulders.

“Jesse, I swear-“

“I’m serious, Gabe. Something’s not right, and they’re the only soul here ready to do some explainin’.”

“Fine! Fine. We’re getting out, Jack’s got the goods.”

A breath on your face. You hear the fabric now, as it turns, and a metal hand grabs yours.

Well, wrestles your fist open and then holds it.

“Follow my lead. We’re leavin’.”

You pause.

“Please-“ you whisper, “please don’t kill me, not now.”

He stops, and you almost launch yourself into the ground again- tired legs unable to hold you up.

“I promise.”

Spur, step, spur, step. Focusing on the sounds that weren’t directly related to you seemed calming. It was a thin façade but it was working for now. The world faded into spurs and footsteps and you couldn’t help it when your grip on his metal hand got a little tighter.

“Thank you.”

* * *

You don’t know where they’re taking you- you do know that it’s eerily quiet in the car. Jesse’s scarf is still draped around you, and he’s sitting to your left, metal hand still curled around your shaking one. You’d managed to snap out of the panic attack for now, but you’d been hit with the harsh reality that you were in a car with three people who probably wanted you dead.

“Why are they here?”

Soldier: 76, known for his strength and tactics, speaks up to your right and you flinch at the harsh tone- shuffling closer to McCree unconsciously. The infamous sharp shooter- and cowboy enthusiast- seemed to light something.

“I reckon they can explain it a lot better than dear ol’ me, 76,” he says, and you swallow the lump in your throat.

“There’s someone out there-“

You recall their face, their eyes- cold, calculating, _if only they’d be good they’d be amazing_ -

“They blinded me and in a month’s time, they’re going to-“

Your breath hitches, images of the liquid being thrown at you seeping through again- the searing pain, _the itching, crawling on the ground for survival- launch yourself, fly away-_

You snap out of it when McCree snaps his fingers.

“Why is that our business?” another voice- another voice muted by a mask, but it’s Reaper, sounding distorted and severely displeased.

“Because they’ll kill you too-“ you whisper, “I need to- I need allies.”

“What about the superhero federation?”

A good question. It was a good company to prospering heroes, but you were behind on your marketing campaign and weren’t as popular with the masses yet, leading to less sponsors and less believability.

“I haven’t- I couldn’t- find them. You were closer.”

“And so you trust us enough to climb in the same car with us?” Reyes’ question is understandable- they could do whatever they pleased right now, you wouldn’t be able to stop them. Or at least not without thrashing and screaming and most likely some crying.

“It might be a trap,” Soldier: 76 says with a growl, pulling your face in his direction- you flinch and tense up almost immediately when his hand digs into your skin.

“It’s-“

You remember the tight grip on your cheek, the liquid- _acid, whatever, burning through as thumbs caressed your skin- there were no burn marks but you felt like your eyes had been ripped out and it hurt, hurt, hurt_ -

“It’s-“

The words don’t come out though you will them to, images flashing before your eyes- _wrestling through the rubble as you cry out in pain, willing yourself to break the earth, trample buildings- but you can only crawl away as they let you._

You only realize the tears have started pouring again when 76’s hand pulls away hurriedly.

“You believe them now?” McCree says, lazily, his head most likely turned in your direction as his voice sounds slightly clearer.

“…not a trap,” you whisper, “it’s not.”

Your voice is grainy and tired, and you smell tobacco. You pull the scarf closer as the car swerves.

Were the sirens always blaring behind you?

“So it’s not a trap,” 76 concludes, voice less aggressive- you take it as some sort of apology for dragging your face around.

“I’ve always said they start too young,” you suddenly hear Reaper say, a bite to his voice, “look at them. One obstacle and they’re torn down at the seams.”

You stay quiet, wondering what he means- it’s true that you were already doing this as a teenager, and nothing had ever prepared you for…this, but that couldn’t be-

“Hardly the time to discuss the system, Gabe,” 76 mutters as you hear fabric rub against the seats, “though the federation might need to divide  their cases better.”

All men hum in agreement as you ponder the statement- it’s true that they said you’d be able to handle it, but then you were outnumbered and outgunned. It’s true they told you not to bring back-up and didn’t have an emergency line open for you.

Your heart leaps at the implications, not in a good way, but you silence it- what do they know? They rob banks.

“I’m not too young-“ you start, but you are quickly interrupted by the car swerving once more.

“You’re barely in your twenties.”

76 and Reaper say it at the same time- and you clench a fist into the fabric of the scarf.

“I’m-“ you pause, looking for the right word, “capable.”

It’s quiet, save for the sirens, now less audible, and McCree taking a drag from his cigarette- cigar, whatever- and your deep breaths.


	2. how the mighty have fallen

The car ride is quiet, save for some bickering between your enemies- unrelated to you, mainly related to the sirens blaring behind them. By the movement you assume that McCree is leaning out the window, firing at the followers, though his hand hasn’t left yours quite yet.

“Don’t get scared-“ it’s a gruff whisper uttered by 76, more of a warning than a soothing statement- when you feel fabric slip over your eyes and get tied behind your head. He’s not quite careful and some of your hair gets wrapped up between the fabric, pulling.

“Just a safety precaution.”

You hum in understanding, still quite startled by his previous actions- but you could get it. They were most likely driving to their hiding spot, which you hadn’t yet uncovered- though you’d gotten close before.

“They’re blind and you done put on a blindfold?”

Jesse’s tone is mocking as you hear the window roll up and feel him climb back into the car, pushing and pulling at you slightly. It’s almost laughable how 76 tenses up, in what you can only assume is embarrassment. You also didn’t really understand, but you did know that if the situation was reversed you’d most likely take the same measures.

“It, uh,” you started, “kind of makes sense.”

You fiddled with the blindfold a bit- adjusting it so it wasn’t pulling at your hair anymore.

“Don’t flatter his ego,” you hear Reaper respond, before he curses as the car makes a sharp right turn. It evolves into a litany of curses by almost everyone in the car- save for you, clutching at someone with an icy demeanor.

It seemed your previous panic had turned into something quite unreadable, silencing everything and making you feel like you weren’t really quite there.

When you hear the brakes screech, and something scratch along the side of the car, you assume you’ve arrived. It might also be the hasty opening of a door and the sound of a garage closing, and then Jesse pulling you out of the car as well. The scarf is a nice protection against the colder temperature in whatever room you are, you notice as you pull it tighter around your shoulders.

When you’re still stumbling out, he lets go- and on instinct you raise your arms and wave them around to find some kind of hold.

“Excuse me, darlin’, had to go unload something. Jus’ wait there for a second,” he drawls- you do hear the shuffling of boxes and the ringing of his spurs, but you decide not to question it. They were definitely unloading illegal things, or stolen goods, but you were pretty much at their mercy now.

You’d beat them for it later.

“Sure,” you stumble, lowering your arms slightly- but still alert, should someone come barreling into you, which wouldn’t be that farfetched.

Carefully, your hands reached out and felt for the cold metal of the car- so you could make sure you weren’t in the way of anything and perhaps even sit down, considering they were still hustling and bustling with their mysterious boxes.

You didn’t find the car, but Jesse’s hand found yours again- scaring you shitless for a few seconds until you remembered that he was here specifically for that purpose.

“Done unloading the loot?” you joke, smiling in a direction you hoped was the direction where McCree was. You had to get along with these people. Although that was weird- not seeing them made it somehow easier.

“I’d tell you but that is sort’a classified, darlin’,” he seems to have a smirk to his words- you can’t be sure, of course, but you feel like McCree is your best bet out of the three men.

The other two are more loose canons than anything else. And very grumpy.

“I’d give you a house tour, but that seems rather redundant. We’ll find you a place to sleep first.”

They don’t have a spare room. You don’t know exactly how much time you and McCree spend walking through the halls of the secret base- but you know your exhaustion must be evident from your dragging feet and quiet huffs. You are also kind of growing tired of the same routine for every room: he’d open a door, leave you standing in the middle of the hallway, presumably peek inside, and then tell you that it’s not quite adequate for a bedroom.

At this point, the floor seemed just adequate enough.

It takes another while- it feels like hours, but you don’t know for sure- before he stops abruptly again, hand trailing to your shoulder and giving it a pinch.

“It’ll be the couch.”

“That’s fine, I don’t expect-“

“You’ll retract that there statement real fast once you find out about 76’s sleep schedule.”

He only mutters it, barely audible- but you know your hearing is heightened because it is your only source of coordination, and the words sound clear enough.

“I’m a heavy sleeper,” you smile sheepishly.

“Mm,” he hums in disbelief, moving away- you’re awkwardly aware of the warmth leaving your shoulder and feel kind of weird just standing around.

It takes a few seconds of silence before he seems to realize that you are just loitering.

“Ah, I forgot about the blind thing. Couch is behind you, table in front. Now that I’m takin’ a good look at ya, we ought to replace that costume. You look ghastly.”

“I didn’t bring a spare. Or any other clothes. Or a disguise,” you list, taking the moment to sit down in the couch carefully- luckily he didn’t lie, and you find yourself instantly being more relaxed when the soft cushions hit your legs and back.

“Understandable,” he retorts, pacing back and forth- his spurs make so much noise, it’s practically unbelievable. They’d always made so much noise.

 

_You hadn’t expected, starting out your lessons at the Academy for Young Adults with Peculiar Powers, that your second lesson on Monday morning- algebra- would be interrupted by a villain._

_Panic was inevitable, considering you and your peers were only 14 or 15 and hadn’t the slightest idea what to do instead of using their powers, which for you meant slowly floating up until your head hit the ceiling._

_Everyone else had been smart and had fled- thanks to someone busting a hole in the wall- and you heard the teacher leading them away as you were left, panicked, floating, and pretty darn close to peeing your pants._

_He’d burst in with a gun- blazing- and a metal arm that could clearly punch through a wall since he’d done just that, and he seemed mildly confused. You couldn’t make out much more from your position against the ceiling, but you figured as long as he didn’t know you were there you’d be fine._

_Carefully, you hauled your table with you as you floated more to the direction of the windows- luckily it was summer and one of them was wide open._

_You didn’t expect your backpack to sabotage you and fall down, and the next few moments seemed like an eternity._

_You paled and froze- dropping the table in quick succession, figuring that all was lost anyway- your teenage brain reciting the panic tactics you’d learned in your previous class with the intensity you wished you’d have on the exam next month._

_The class failed to mention what to do when there was no nearby help. Considering you were all pretty young they’d steadfastly told you never to go in alone, and to not play hero, but here you were._

_He took a step and you realized he wore spurs._

_He couldn’t be that much older- you figured he was in his mid-twenties, which still seemed old to you then, though he was pretty attractive if you looked at him from above._

_He took another step when the table finally hit the ground, breaking off a few of it’s legs and making a god-awful sound, and your arms pushed you closer to the window._

_When he finally did look up, he stared pretty intently with deep brown eyes._

_You stared back- hoping you didn’t look as terrified as you were, and also secretly hoping your acne didn’t make you look too young, since he probably wouldn’t feel threatened by a teen without control of their powers._

_His gun lifted up slowly and your mind blanked when it did- arms stretched and legs dangling and **you didn’t want to die.**_

_“Come down from that there ceiling slowly,” he said in a Southern accent- he clearly wasn’t from around here but his low voice complimented his tone._

_Another movement of spurs._

_“Are you going to kill me?” you squeaked, voice cracking up as you tried to get down- your instincts were telling you to up and float away into the heavens but the intense stare made you slowly go down, back to the floor._

_“You’re a kid,” he said, as if that was an answer- when your feet hit the ground you instinctively scrambled back a bit._

_“I’m not!” you retorted._

_He stepped closer._

_“You know where the file cabinets are?”_

_Your ass hit a table and you scared yourself immensely, shooting up and away from it and incidentally, closer to the villain._

_“Uh,” you started, hoping to mislead him but quickly figuring out that your pause would make that hard, “I don’t. Very secretive.”_

_He lowered his gun just slightly, dark eyes looking into yours with something you couldn’t quite identify._

_“If you’re lying, I will find you and kill you,” he said- your heart stopped at the implication, “now scoot.”_

_Your heart stopped so hard you didn’t hear that last part._

_He seemed to notice that his threat had a bit of an exaggerated effect, stepping closer and grabbing your uniform’s collar before throwing you out._

_Luckily you remembered how to fly._

_The sound of spurs would haunt your nightmares after that, waking you in alarm._

 

“I’m sure you can wear some of my clothes in the meantime, though they might be a bit big,” McCree says, waking you out of the daydream you were having.

“Ah, sure,” you smile, leaning back a bit more before letting out a hiss.

You’d forgotten about your bruises due to the adrenaline.

“Bruised?” he asks, and you hear him walk away for a little bit while you nod, carefully lifting your back off of the couch.

“Whoever this is really did a number on ya, didn’t they?” you hear him ask, though it probably isn’t meant for your ears. You stop yourself from slipping back into those memories, right on time, focusing on the stinging pain instead.

“Just get me some clothes,” you sigh, carefully peeling off the top of your suit. Some parts were ripped open due to being dragged along gravel, making it extra painful.

The spurs come back when you’re in the middle of a grimace, struggling with a sleeve. You don’t realize he’s kneeling in front of you until his knees hit yours, hands taking care of your sleeves, albeit rather roughly.

“That’s somethin’ that needs first aid right there,” he mutters, trying not to touch the open wounds or bruises too much, but sometimes he does.

“No way,” you retort sarcastically with a slight smile as you bite the stings away, and you feel him hand you a shirt.

“I’ve misplaced my spare pants, but you can take off your top half with this already,” he says, “I’ll go look for some boxers.”

You comply without a second thought, putting on the shirt- for some reason, it’s still warm.

* * *

You wake up in cold sweat, heaving breaths, screaming headache.

But the world is still invisible.

The feeling of tears is all too familiar as you climb out of bed, carefully dragging a hand against the wall to know your bearings, carefully maneuvering past the table with the warmth of McCree’s shirt on your shoulder-

“You’re up.”

You freeze in fear until you realize you are in _their_ evil lair, so of course they’re hanging around- you had always guessed their sleeping schedules were fucked up anyway, and McCree did warn you about 76 in particular.

“Morrison,” you acknowledge, “where can I make a cup of coffee?”

“The kitchen.”

His raspy voice is slightly irritated, but your hand clenches around the table and he must realize what he’s said when you swallow hard and you feel it creak under your force.

“I- sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’ll- I’ll deal with it.”

“Deal with what?”

You try to manage looking in his direction.

“The nightmares. Headaches. Panic attacks. You name it, I’ve got it.”

You wipe at your face.

“Take my hand.”

He isn’t just proposing it- it sounds like an order, like he’s back in the military.

So you take it, carefully- his hands are slightly bigger than McCree’s, though his fingers aren’t as long. They’re equally calloused, though- both wield a gun, after all.

He starts out stepping slowly, softly, but when you follow diligently he raises the speed to a normal walk.

“How do you take your coffee?”

“Usually with a lot of sugar, but I’d like it black.”

Silence.

“I like sugar. But not now.”

Silence, but he stops and puts your hand on what seems like a countertop- cold, like marble, but very smooth.

The coffee machine starts whirring before he speaks again.

“Too much sugar’s bad for you,” he grunts, but you’ll take it- it’s better than awkward silence, anyway.

“Very true, but it also tastes great,” you smile back, trying to do it in his direction. You tried to imagine what it would look like when you hear him grab cups, muttering something about how weird this is, and you can’t help but agree, turning around so you’re leaning against the supposed counter.

“You can take the blindfold off, you know,” 76 remarks, and you only now remember it’s still there- lopsided and warm. During your vivid dreams it must’ve really tried it’s best to stay on.

“Well, I couldn’t see it.”

You felt like adding a dull ‘badum-tsh’ to your statement, just to really milk the joke. You decide not to when you hear the exasperated groan 76 lets out.

Carefully, you reach up and undo the knot- which is still surprisingly tight- and the fabric slides off. You hadn’t noticed how it had kind of soothed you to be blinded by an outside source as well- forced rather than having to deal with your permanent state of not-seeing.

“Do they even allow such lame jokes at the Federation these days?” he then asks- it surprises you because how does he know what kind of stuck-up affair the federation is? But it seems so petty to make a big deal out of it- they must’ve just done enough research.

“Surprisingly, they do,” you grin, accepting the cup he quite carefully puts in your hand after lifting it slowly, making sure you know what’s going on.

“I’ll go get some fresh air,” he says after his first sip, “you?”

You don’t respond immediately as you enjoy the sting of hot caffeine running down your throat, before nodding. You couldn’t tell what time it was but you reckoned it was night, if you could reconstruct what had happened the previous day.

He places your hand on his arm without much effort and starts walking- it takes you a few moments of stretching your arm before you figure out to follow, sliding your feet along the cold, tiled floor.

The swishing noise of a door enters your ear and soon after a cold breeze washes over you, and your toes nearly smash against a slightly raised part of floor but you luckily calm down, sliding them against it.

The moment your foot steps over the threshold, you realize the tiles inside weren’t all that cold. Soldier leads you forward further until he places his cup- you guess, from the noise of glass hitting concrete- and your hand on the railing.

You can’t help taking a deep breath- most definitely night air entering your lungs and seemingly cleansing them for a little while.

It was then, with the wind blowing through your hair and the cold stinging your eyes, that realization dawned on you.

Not in the form of sheer panic like it had before- more like a defeatist-sort of acceptance that this was your situation now: recovering from skin-deep injuries in the villain’s lair, with a complete loss of eyesight.

And where the adrenaline had held back most of your tears- bar your little breakdown in front of McCree- it now was non-existent to stop them, you realized, when you felt your cheeks get wet as the corners of your eyes started to sting.

“What in the hell happened before you found us?”

Soldier’s voice is a rumble, it’s soft but still has the edge he always added to his words, and your hands clench around the railing.

“I don’t think-“ your voice cracked, “I’ll explain when everyone’s awake.”


End file.
